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Though this blog started out as an experiment for a blogging class that is now over, I plan to continue blogging.

However, Gourmet B.C. is taking a brief hiatus. I accepted a position for a full-time job today, and in addition, I will be taking two classes for the first summer session. In order to stay sane, I have decided to take a break from blogging for a few weeks.

When I come back (around July), Gourmet B.C. will be revamped with a new layout and will have its own domain name (yes, that will still be Gourmet B.C.) (!).

“Happy birthday, Nana. I love you.” These were the last words my grandmother heard me say.

The following post is not related to paleo; however, as a human being, I think it is important that I address something that affects everyone at some point in their life: grief. I haven’t had a chance to grieve over the loss of my grandmother, so this is going to be my place to do that. I can feel the effects of grief catching up with me, so I need a space to share my story.

On February 9, 2014, my grandmother passed away. I called her Nana, so that’s what I will be calling her from now on. It was sudden, scary, and heartbreaking.

Nana’s health problems began in January. She was having “abnormal” conditions, even for a person her age (she was 81). One night, she was in so much pain that we called an ambulance to take her to the hospital. I was holding her hand before they came to take her. As I stroked her hand, Nana was telling me how much pain she was in. I said, “You’re going to be just fine. They’ll fix you and bring you back here.” After she was gone, I anxiously awaited every detail from my parents.

Her bones? Is that even possible? I thought. It turns out that yes, bone cancer is a thing.

Nana was brought back home. When I say home, I mean back to my house. She had been living with us for the past 10 years. This was a woman whose presence was prevalent in my life. I saw her a lot.

“What are we going to do?” I asked my mom.

“I just can’t put her through chemotherapy. She wouldn’t survive it.”

Instead of chemotherapy, it was decided that Nana would have a procedure done to her bladder, which was causing her problems. So, back off to the hospital it was. The next day, she was taken to a different hospital where they could perform the necessary procedures and tests. As it turns out, the bladder was the source of her cancer.

Nana came home after a week in the hospital. Unfortunately, they sent her home and placed her under hospice care. My mom had to sign a “do not resuscitate” form. That translates to: enjoy your time with her now.

Nana & Pop Pop

It was February 3rd. When Nana came home, she was relatively coherent. I greeted her and told her I loved her. Almost ignoring me, she informed the nurse she was in pain and needed morphine. This cycle continued for days. After a while, she was no longer coherent, though I think she could understand some things when the morphine wore off.

February 7th: my Nana’s birthday. I went downstairs and sat on the side of her hospital bed. My mom told me I would have to come close to her ear to talk to her if I wanted her to hear but warned me, at the same time, that she didn’t appear to be very responsive. Translation: I shouldn’t be upset if she didn’t acknowledge me.

“Happy birthday, Nana. I love you.” I said into her ear, probably a little too quietly.

Mom leaned in and asked, “Did you hear that, mom?”

Nana grunted.

“That was your Britty; she wished you a happy birthday.”

And then something amazing happened. Nana said, “Ohhhh,” giggled, and then got a huge smile on her face. She was quickly asleep again. I will never forget that moment for the rest of my life.

Nana, Mom, and I had been very excited for February 9th because it was the season premiere of The Walking Dead. Yes, my 81-year-old grandmother loved a zombie show.

I had some friends coming over that night for the premiere, which wasn’t unusual. Mom encouraged me to continue with normality despite everything that was going on, and I needed that reassurance. I was taking six classes; one of them was internship that I loved very much. I needed a small break. My friends and I went out to dinner, which was quite enjoyable.

When I came home, I immediately knew something was wrong.

My boyfriend, who was studying at my house, came to greet me at the door.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“You need to go downstairs,” he replied.

My heart sank. Why? I wanted to scream. Why do I need to go downstairs? What the hell does that mean? What do you know that I don’t?

I didn’t need to ask because I knew.

“I don’t know what to do, my friends are outside,” I said.

But I knew. I knew. I could feel my heart racing, palpitating from the sudden sense of urgency that comes when your adrenaline peaks.

“I don’t even know how to say this.. It’s happening,” I told them. “I’m so sorry. I need to be with my family.” Eyes stinging with tears that I tried to hold back, I apologized profusely to them. After seeing them off, I went downstairs.

My dad, mom, two uncles, and our close friend/nurse Bonnie were standing around Nana’s hospital bed. Gospel music was playing. Everyone was crying. My mom was holding Nana’s head. Dad was holding her right hand. Nana was breathing in weird, raspy breaths.

“What’s happening?” I asked, wishing in the next moment I hadn’t.

Bonnie explained to me what was happening and while I understood at the time, I couldn’t possibly repeat it now. Bonnie lifted up the blanket to show me Nana’s feet. They were purple, as though someone had dipped her feet into Concord grape juice. Her eyes were half open, but she appeared to be staring at nothing. The water sound in her breaths deepened.

After looking around again, I realized my brother wasn’t there.

I looked at Charlie. “Go get Chris. Tell him now. Tell him RIGHT NOW.”

I turned back to Nana. I needed to say goodbye. But, how do you say goodbye to someone? What do you say? I wanted to speak many times but failed. So many thoughts flew through my head.

Was I a good granddaughter? Did I make her proud? Will I make her proud? Is she hurting? Why is this happening? Is she scared? I’m scared. I hope she’s not in pain. I wish I had spent more time with her.

The raspy breath deepened and quickened. My mom later called this watery sound (the fluid backing up into the lungs) the “death rattle,” and I would say that’s a pretty accurate description.

I didn’t know how to say goodbye. I didn’t want to. I wanted to scream STOP! Just stay with us! but I knew it was futile. I knew she was leaving.

After about 10 minutes of the worsening “death rattle,” her muscles began to tense — almost like she was stretching. Then, her entire body tensed. I grabbed her hand. I knew it was coming: the final breath. I watched helplessly as her eyes got bigger like she was taking in the world one last time. Because she had her head facing my way, it looked like she was looking at me for the last time, even though I know she was out of it.

My mom was screaming, “I love you Joycie. Go be with Jesus,” over and over.

And then I heard the last breath. It was deep, long. Much too long to be a normal breath. My mom slammed her head on the hospital bed. She howled. A child’s love for their mother in one single sound. I felt and heard my mom’s pain. It was this sound from my mother, the one most dear to me, the one losing her mother, that snapped me into reality. I continued to hold my Nana’s hand while I watched, tears streaming down my face, as my mom ran out the back door, away from the sadness, the lifelessness, the death.

We buried my Nana on the 15th of February, the same day my grandfather passed away in 2002. It was snowing; the ceremony was beautiful.

This is my first experience watching someone die. It was hard and very heartbreaking. I feel almost selfish wondering what death is like. Where did she go? I’m not religious; I don’t really believe in anything after death. Is it just darkness? Is she dreaming? I hope she is with my other favorite person in the world (if we are so lucky to go to someplace like that), her husband, my Pop Pop. I guess I’ll find out when I get there.

I haven’t been allowed to grieve. My schedule this semester hasn’t allowed it; some days, I am at school for 10 hours. Dropping classes was not an option. But, this experience taught me a lot of things. First, I realized how short life is. It feels like Nana was just moving in with us yesterday. Second, I am a much stronger person than I thought. I saw everything through with my mom: I watched as they took her from the hospital bed, put her in a body bag, and put her in the back of the hearse. You never know what you’re capable of until it happens. Sharing the story feels like a relief, and I thank you for reading it.

“Oh, anotherpaleo blog. I bet it’s going to be about her life and what she eats and why she eats what she does and recipe reviews and yaddayaddayadda.”

Well, you are so wrong.

Just kidding. You’re right.

You’d be surprised how many things I have to say about food. I mean, food is literally my drug. I can’t go for days without eating (seriously though). But, here’s the thing: I have become so much more aware of what I put in my body as I have gotten older.

It was winter of 2012. My boyfriend and I had been dating for about six months, and we became what people would call “foodies.” We spent probably hundreds of dollars a month just trying different restaurants. I began to notice a serious decline in my health, though. I was sick a lot; I didn’t want to go out. I was pretty miserable. I was losing my hair. Tons of it. I was tired all the time. So tired. So much tiredness I could sleep for a billion hours and still be tired.

“A 23-year-old shouldn’t be living like this way. This isn’t life, man,” I would say to myself.

So I decided to make a change, and it was a drastic one at that. I didn’t want to “diet.” The word diet has such a bad connotation, and I was desperate to stay away from it. I just wanted a way of living that would make me feel good.

Enter paleo.

I first found out about paleo from a blog called Against All Grain. Her story fascinated me. Danielle’s story certainly doesn’t match mine, but it really did get the gears turning in my head of how I could fix the other issues I had (I’ll spare you details of those, though, you lucky duck). And so I did it. I gave up eating grains.

GASP, you say, “how can you do that?!?! There’s the delicious bread and such!”

Yes. It is indeed very hard being grain-free. It is even harder being soy-free, dairy-free, and legume-free. It’s even more difficult when you have such a distinctive palate such as mine. Am I all of these things all of the time? No. I deviate. Bodies are not a “one size fits all,” and neither are the way each individual lives.

So, what will be on my blog? It’s titled “Gourmet B.C.,” a clever pun on the “before common era” time period if I do say so myself. I particularly want to focus on food, as an almost “food diary” for myself, to find out what makes my body happy and unhappy. But, I’ll probably mix some exercise and general “paleo life choices” in with this. Most importantly, I want it to be fun. It’s no fun going through life with health issues. And, even if you don’t have any, I think it’s always fun to talk about food in general.